


By chance, by choice

by Eyp



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: 5 + 1, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Secret Valentine's Day Gift Exchange 2020, Slow Burn, angst with happy ending, of the stubbornness of fate and the strength of hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyp/pseuds/Eyp
Summary: There’s a beat of silence and the moment feels charged with things unsaid. And with the fact that, for once, there’s no immediate future demanding their attention, no friends or acquaintances looking at them with either curiosity or worry in their eyes. It’s the weight of possibilities and Nezumi can almost feel it like a thick blanket hanging from his shoulders, pinning him to his spot.Weirdly enough, he just feels… grounded. Not trapped. Not suffocated.And isn’t that a novelty.**Five times they meet by chance, one they meet by choice. A tale of the intersection of their lives as the years go by.
Relationships: Nezumi/Shion (No. 6)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74





	By chance, by choice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goma/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day Goma!!! This is the first time I'm exploring the 5+1 trope. I've always thought it could fit this world well (6 cities, it just made sense, you know?) and I hope I made it justice.  
> I'm sorry I'm a little late. This story turned out to be longer than I expected but I'm glad with the result. I hope you enjoy!  
>   
> 

# 1.

Nezumi’s been working at the Veras Museum for a month when it happens. 

His job is easy. He sells tickets, gives details about new exhibits and keeps the information walls updated as well as the projectors in the main hall. 

Easy and boring. But he can’t complain—or shouldn’t, really. It gets him enough money to pay for the little room he’s renting and he’s eating better than he has in the past two years. 

And that’s what he’s thinking about. Food. Maybe he’ll try the small new restaurant that just opened a few blocks away.

He might as well. 

Someone steps in front of his desk and he smiles before looking up.

“Welcome to the Veras Museum, how can I help you?”

The man in front of him is taking one of the pamphlets available for visitors as he grins.

“Hi. I was wondering if the Nureyev exhibit is still up?”

Nezumi _knows_ that information is right at the front page of the pamphlet the man is holding. Still, his smile doesn't waver.

“Yes, sir., it is. It’ll be here for another week.”

The man beams. 

“Wonderful! Did you—” he turns around, “Hey! Shion, come here! The exhibit is still up, you’re lucky.”

Nezumi freezes.

Coincidences are a thing that happen. He knows this. 

He also knows the universe is a comedian who likes to laugh at his own jokes.

He’s sitting, so he doesn’t have a vantage point and, from his perspective, it very much feels like Shion just materializes by the man’s side. 

He’s—he’s smiling, and saying something that Nezumi can’t make out over the deafening sound of his heartbeat in his ears. But then he turns towards him and his smile freezes.

In his perisphere, Nezumi can see the man looking worriedly between them.

“...Um, Shion? What—”

“Nezumi?” he breathes out. The warm light streaming from the tall windows of the hall catches in his hair. 

It’s quite unfair, that the first coherent thought that crosses his mind after two years of not seeing him—after he left him, is ' _beautiful'._

He clears his throat. His heart is still trying to win a race he never signed up for.

“Shion,” he starts, but words have left him, and he _needs_ to say something else. “What are you doing here?”

And just like that, Shion unfreezes. He doesn't _recoil_ _,_ not exactly, but his shoulders rise minutely, tense, and his expression closes off.

Walls up. 

But Shion never—

“Oh! You know him?” the man is asking, eyes wide with realization.

“Ah, yes, from—” Shion musters the shadow of a smile for the man, his eyes leaving Nezumi’s just for a second. “Years ago. I—I didn’t know. Nezumi—”

Nezumi feels trapped behind his desk. His hands are hovering uselessly over his keyboard, trembling slightly. 

“You—”

“I’m sorry, excuse me—” a middle aged man comes from behind Shion and leans against the counter to glare directly at him. “Why is the Earth Room closed? I came _exclusively_ to see the new Jorah, and then I find I can’t get in? You _told me_ —”

Nezumi grits his teeth. He hears a door opening from behind him and the next second Tamara is sat by his side.

“I leave you one minute and this is what I find?” she mutters teasingly under her breath. “Please, come over to the side,” she says, gesturing towards Shion and his companion, who had taken half a step back from the angry visitor.

“ _Sir”,_ Nezumi manages to get out just as he sees Shion and the man moving towards Tamara. They ask for two tickets. “The new Jorah is in the left wing, I’m sure I said—”

“Your didn’t! You certainly didn’t!”

Tamara is handing the tickets to Shion and the man. Nezumi closes his hands into fists, tries to say something over the nonsense the angry visitor is throwing at him and notices that Shion is turning away and walking further into the Museum. He ignores the man in front of him and looks at his retreating figure; at the light catching in his white hair.

After listening to the angry visitor list of complaints for an other eternal five minutes, he sits back and closes his eyes. And that's why he almost jumps out of his skin when he hears Shion’s voice again.

“Nezumi—” 

“Shit,” he mutters, accidentally knocking an empty water bottle from his desk.

“Oh, I’m sorry—” Shion starts apologizing.

“I’ve got it,” Tamara says, reaching down to pick up the bottle and shooing Nezumi’s hands away.

“No, it’s—” he straightens, looks at Shion, hearing his heartbeat in his ears _again_. “It’s fine.”

“I didn’t mean to—well.” He looks over his shoulder and Nezumi can see that the man he came in with is on the other end of the hall, reading the pamphlet he picked up earlier. “Any of this.”

“What?”

“I’m here in, ah, official business. From No.6.”

“They sent you?” Nezumi asks, feeling a little bit more like himself by the second.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he answers, smiling a little. This particular smile brings a small dimple to his left cheek. Since when did Shion had dimples? How come he never noticed? 

“I’m not.”

“I didn’t want to come. I would have liked to stay in the city, in case—”

Shion catches himself mid-sentence. Nezumi's expression falters. 

He knows what Shion was going to say.

They both do.

_In case you came back._

He can feel Tamara’s gaze land on him a couple of times. Shit. Why aren’t there any visitors coming in? 

Shion runs a hand through his hair and looks over his shoulder again for a brief second. The light falls gently on his profile and his skin appears to be both soft and tense. The scar curling around his cheek looks the same. He remembers how it felt under his thumb: tender and delicate, like so many dangerous things usually are. 

“But it was necessary,” Shion is saying with an odd lightness in his tone, and Nezumi forces himself to snap out of his reverie. “So I talked myself into it, because it didn’t make sense that you would go back only to leave if you didn’t find me there, right?”

And it’s there then. Their truth.

“Shion—”

“You would at least ask around and maybe wait a little for me, which would be fair, I think.”

“Listen—”

“I shouldn’t keep Rodrik waiting, though,” he adds quickly, talking over Nezumi. “And I’m distracting you from your work, right?"

There’s a beat of silence. Nezumi doesn't know how many times he has felt like he lost his footing in the past ten minutes. 

“No, actually. We’re never busy at this time of the day, as you can see” he says, pretending that’s the most pressing topic to address. 

“Oh.”

“But you should go.”

Shion’s gaze can hold so much. Nezumi shouldn’t have forgotten that. It brings everything to the surface; his questions and his fears and all he’s still trying to understand.

“You’re not being as kind as you think you are,” Shion says so softly he barely catches it. “That’s it then?”

Nezumi recognizes the weight on his chest as something similar to panic. 

“Dramatism doesn’t suit you, Shion,” he says with no bite, but hates himself for it anyway. Wrong. It’s all _wrong_. Shion gaze turns sharp and his shoulders rise with a deep inhale. Nezumi’s hands won’t stop shaking, fingers longing for something to hold. Anything. Even a thought solid enough could work. “I would do it—ask around. If you were gone. And I would wait. You’re not wrong about that.”

Shion is silent for moment. “ _Hope is a thing with feathers_ ,” he says.

Nezumi smiles. The weight in his chest is starting to hurt.

Shion turns around and walks away.

He stares until he and Rodrik leave the main hall. Then he focuses on breathing. The hall is a big wide room with huge beautiful windows but, somehow, there’s not enough air inside.

“Hey, Nezumi?” Tamara asks quietly by his side.

“Yeah?”

“What was that?”

Even if he wanted to answer, there wouldn’t be a simple and short way of doing it. So he settles for something generic and unbefitting.

“Complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t seem to cover it.”

Nezumi huffs a laugh. Or something that dreamed to be a laugh if his lungs could remember how to function properly. And some of that must show on his face because the next moment Tamara is gently resting a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

“I—yes. Just headache.”

“A complicated headache, I assume?”

“Yeah.”

She squints at him, leans back on her chair and sighs.

“Why don’t you go home? Your shift is over in what, half an hour? I’ll cover for you. It’s not like we get many visitors at this hour and the boss won’t be coming back anytime soon. If she asks, I’ll make something up.”

“It’s not necess—”

“If you stay, I’ll keep making questions. You _don’t want_ my questions, I’m sure. And I owe you one, remember? Go, and we’ll be even.” 

He stares at Tamara for a second. She twirls in her chair once, twice, stops and catches his eyes. 

“Sounds fair to me,” he says, finally standing and quicky tidying up his desk.

She grins at him. 

Nezumi collects his things from the back room and leaves. 

He doesn’t get to try the food from the new restaurant. But maybe he will, one day, if he decides to come back.

***

# 2.

It’s a nice evening. The Café is almost full but and conversations and laughter fill the air. He takes the three steps to the small platform in the corner and tries to fix the mic to hid height with no success.

Georgie laughs at him. “Let me.” 

His instinct is to bat her hands away and try again because, how hard can it be? But by now he knows he’d only end up embarrassing himself.

“Thanks,” he huffs, pushing down his annoyance. “Is Yachi joining us?”

“No, just the two of us tonight. She had to study for an important exam, was driving herself mad with stress.”

Just then, Travis walks up to them with a smile. “Hey! Georgie, Nezumi,” he says, hugging them in turn. Nezumi gives him an awkward pat on the back. “I’m glad you could make it, Luka never cancelled like this before.”

“It’s alright, good thing we were both free,” she says. “Things have been slow lately.”

“Drinks are on the house. Do you need anything right now?”

“Just water, please,” says Nezumi, picking up a stool and placing it in front of the microphone. Georgie sits to his left and starts tuning her guitar.

“Of course! I’ll be right back.”

“So, what do you feel like singing tonight?” she asks, once Travis disappear towards the kitchen.

They pick a few songs, all of which they’ve played together before. Some well known that any crowd in No.1 enjoys, and some that Georgie and Yachi have composed themselves and fit right into what Travis likes. 

Once they're set, Georgie greets their public briefly and they begin. Nezumi lets his voice be carried by the music, reaches into some deep part of _who he is_ and follows the rise and fall of the notes coming from Georgie’s guitar. He can see Travis smiling and mouthing along the words behind the counter.

A few more people come in during their performance, taking the empty tables until there’s not a single seat free.

They’re on their fourth song when it happens. 

There’s a clatter coming from a table on the other side of the room, close to a window facing the street. He instinctively looks that way, voice unwavering. A few heads turn momentarily toward the sound: apparently someone stumbled in their haste to get up and their chair fell back. They’re leaning down to pick up the chair and a person from their table is saying something to them. They look worried. 

Nezumi is about to look away, to return his full focus to the song, when the beanie the person was wearing falls as they begin to straighten up. The light coming from the streetlamps that comes in through the window falls starkly on a shock of white hair. Another person from the table picks up the beanie and hands it to them, saying something he can’t hear. They turn just a bit, and it’s enough for Nezumi to look at their profile. 

Shion.

_Shion—_

Shion is walking towards the door, his back to him. Leaving.

Nezumi stops singing and gets up. 

He can hear Georgie saying his name under her breath, fingers still playing the notes on her guitar, but Nezumi is already walking down the tree steps and deftly making his way between the tables and towards the door. He’s only half-aware of everyone looking at him and of Georgie’s hastily apologizing in the mic. 

He steps out of the Café and looks frantically to both sides. His breath comes in short white puffs of hot air that quickly disappear into the cold night breeze. He catches sight of Shion quickly walking away on the other side of the street. 

“Shion!” he calls, before he realizes what he’s doing. And then he’s crossing the street and Shion stopped walking but is still not looking at him. “Wait,” he adds, taking the last few steps that separate them.

And isn’t that a funny a word to use.

Shion turns around and Nezumi stops. 

“Nezumi? Hey—” he hears Georgie’s voice from behind. She sounds worrie. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Nezumi doesn’t turn, doesn’t dare take his eyes off Shion. So he waits until Georgie’s by his side instead.

“Yes, Georgie, I’m—” he glances at her briefly, flashing what’s he hopes is a reassuring smile. He’s acutely aware of Shion standing there, right in front of them. “I’m fine. I’m sorry about—well. That.”

“I thought—oh,” and she is looking at Shion now. Her brow furrows for less than a second and then her expression clears with realization. Nezumi can almost hear the gears turning in hear head as she pieces it all together. “Hi, I’m sorry, a friend of yours, Nezumi?” she asks, extending her hand out to Shion.

Shion hasn’t looked directly at Nezumi yet, but he smiles stiffly at Georgie and takes of one of his gloves to take her hand. 

“Hi,” Shion says, and his voice rings clear and true in the night. 

It’s enough to make him react.

“Yes, he—” he tries to answer, stumbling on his words. “It’s a long story.”

Georgie lets go of Shion's hand and he puts his glove back on. He notices his hands are shaking.

“Georgie, I—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll go back and explain… something, to Travis. Say we’ll continue in a few. Is that alright?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Sure, I’ll go back inside,” she waves at Shion before turning back towards the Café. “Nice meeting you!”

Shion stares at her retreating figure until they can no longer listen to her footsteps.

Nezumi inhales deeply. 

“She’s a good friend,” Shion says, and it’s not what Nezumi expected to hear, but then again, he doesn’t really know if there was anything to expect.

So he blurts the first thing that crosses his mind, the first thing he thought when he recognized him and saw him disappear behind the door.

“You ran off.”

Shion is still not looking at him. His eyes are on the pavement, cobblestones still glistening from when it rained just a couple of hours ago. 

“Yes, well,” he says, his voice carefully flat. “You didn’t want to see me the last time. I figured you wouldn’t want to see me now.”

It’s not an accusation. Just the statement of fact.

It stings. 

“It wasn’t—”

Shion looks up then. 

_Ah—_

Right. The day he left, he had told Shion he was afraid of him. Was this part of the reason? Because Shion can _see_ him. Truly see him. And what’s more scary than being known? Than having all you want buried stripped away without having a say in it?

“Nezumi,” Shion says, looking away again. “I’m not—I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“You left No.6 again.”

“Yes. I’m going back tomorrow.”

“Last time—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“Let me. I want to.”

Shion is silent. Nezumi feels his hands getting colder and colder by the second.

“I panicked. In No.4. I shouldn’t have left.”

“You had no obligation to stay.”

“I could have.”

“I know. But maybe that would have been worse. I mean, what would it have achieved, really?” Shion looks at him then, and he’s smiling. It’s a small smile. Sad but gentle.

“Why are you making excuses for me?,” Nezumi asks, feeling—well. He’s not sure. Something between angry and ashamed.

“I’m not, Nezumi. I stopped making excuses for you when I left the Nureyev exhibit and found you gone.”

Nezumi intertwines his freezing fingers. The cold hurts.

“That’s a really good line, Shion. Poetic, I’d said, but that would be a bit too much.”

Shion actually laughs at that. It’s soft and short, but it’s there. Real. His eyes crinkle at the corners and there’s that dimple on his left cheek again.

“Improvised too, so it deserves more credit.”

Nezumi smiles. “If they’re not excuses, what would you call them?”

Shion shrugs. “Understanding. You probably weren’t expecting to see me until you decided to go back to No.6. and then I was there, like a ghost, bringing back things you weren’t thinking of facing yet,” he says, and there’s something like helplessness in his voice. 

Nezumi isn’t used to having others explain to him how his own mind works. Shion’s words make more sense than anything he's tried to piece together before. He feels awash with a sudden rush of embarrassment and it’s such an alien feeling a part of him is strongly tempted to turn around and walk until he can’t feel Shion’s eyes on him any longer.

“Only two years had passed, and that obviously was too little for you. Which is—it’s not... I’m not judging you for that. I’ve been trying to make peace with it. That’s why I left the Café, when I heard you, when I saw you I—” 

“Panicked?” Nezumi cuts in.

Shion nods. “I didn’t want to know how you would react if you saw me now.”

“A little too late for that,” he says. And Shion smiles again. It’s almost enough, but his hands are still cold. “Go back inside. I need to finish my performance, I can promise you it will be good.”

“I missed listening to you sing.”

Nezumi swallows and half turns towards the Café. “Come, then. There are still a few songs left.”

Shion hesitates only for a second and then they’re walking side by side down the street. It feels familiar. Easy. 

“Why did they send you here this time?” 

“They didn’t send me, specifically. This is Isa’s project—she’s a colleague. She’s working to improve and expand the public transportation system in the city to the outer rings, including the West Block. And No.1 is the best of the six cities in that department. She asked me to come along because I’ve been helping her for while now.”

Nezumi whistles. “Ambitious.” 

“We have to aim high if we want to make a real change.” They’re outside the Café’s door. Shion frowns. “This is going to be awkward, isn’t it?”

Nezumi chuckles at that. His fingers are getting some warmth back. “You haven’t changed.”

Shion shakes his head. “I would like to believe I have, actually.”

“I’ll have to see for myself, then?”

Shion opens the door and looks at him with a smile. “Exactly.”

***

# 3.

From the cities he’s visited, No.5 is the one that resembles No.6 the most. Technology is amazingly advanced and everything looks modern and polished to shine brightly under the sun. It makes him feel… tense, at first. Like something is going to spring at him from the shadows when he’s least expecting it.

It must be noticeable, because Yachi points it out and when he tries to laugh it off Georgie gives him _a look_ that he has learnt is best not to challenge. The strange feelings passes, after a while, and by now he feels more or less settled. 

He starts seeing the beauty of the city. It’s been four years since he left No.6 and he wonders if he could feel the same way about it too, at some point. 

It’s with that thought in his mind that he’s walking the streets of the Gardens District, which is basically an area of huge and beautiful parks, complete with artificial lakes, small creeks, fountains and carefully designed paths that wind between the trees and the open areas. The sunset paints everything golden and the world looks soft, somehow.

Which is why he’s probably too distracted to pay much mind to anyone who passes by. It’s a sunday, so there’s many people enjoying a nice day out in beauty the parks have to offer.

And then he looks ahead, a little more focused now, and finds that Shion is a few feet away from him, walking in his direction with his eyes lost in the flowers that line that side of the path.

Nezumi stops dead in his tracks and he must have made some sort of sound, or _something_ , because Shion gaze snaps to his and then they’re facing each other, frozen in place. 

It has been almost a year since he saw him at the Café in No.1. Shion hair is a little longer now, enough for him to have it tied back, but there are a few strands that fall to frame his face. 

His very surprised face. 

“Shion—”

“Nezumi—”

They speak at the same time. Stop. 

Nezumi makes a vague gesture with his hands. 

“I—how? I thought…” he stops. Swallows. “I thought you didn’t left No.1?”

Nezumi lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “I didn’t. Well, I did but, after a while. I’ve been here for, uh, four months now? With Georgie and Yachi. You remember Georgie?”

“Oh! The girl that played the guitar?”

“Yes, that’s her. Yachi’s her girlfriend.”

“And you’re the third wheel?” Shion asks with a blossoming smile and a teasing glint in his eyes.

This time Nezumi does laugh, because yeah, it’s kind of true. “Ha, they wish.”

There’s a beat of silence and the moment feels charged with things unsaid. And with the fact that, for once, there’s no immediate future demanding their attention, no friends or acquaintances looking at them with either curiosity or worry in their eyes. It’s the weight of possibilities and Nezumi can almost feel it like a thick blanket hanging from his shoulders, pinning him to his spot.

Weirdly enough, he just feels… grounded. Not trapped. Not suffocated.

And isn’t that a novelty.

“Do you have any plans now?” he asks, sounding far more confident than he feels.

Shion looks taken aback. “I, no, not really—”

“Walk with me?”

For a breathless, long second, he thinks Shion is going to say no. He thinks he's going to look away and say, _actually, I just remembered, I have to leave now so_ —which is ridiculous, obviously, but the thought makes him want to take the question back, to laugh it off and walk away.

Because he wants this so fiercely it's almost scary. 

But then Shion expression brightens and the sunlight makes his hair and his eyes shine and Nezumi is thinking _‘beautiful’_ again, just like he did two years ago in the Museum.

So they walk side by side, their arms brushing in their proximity. The talk and laughter of strangers surrounds them as they cross the picnic area.

"Why No.5, then?" Nezumi asks.

Shion smiles, but looks sad and distant all of sudden.

"Safu," he says quietly, and Nezumi is not quite sure he heard right.

"Safu?"

Shion closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before explaining. "Yes. Safu left No.6 as part of a study program and came here, to No.5. She was so happy and excited … tried to pretend it wasn't a big deal, that it didn't matter—she was worried about me of course, because I had been kicked out of Chronos and the gifted program years ago and she probably thought I’d feel left behind. But I didn’t. I was just…” his voice shakes and he stops talking. Nezumi reaches out and grabs one of his hands, clasping it tightly between his. 

Shion glances at him, for a moment. There are no tears in his eyes, but he looks small and lost all of sudden. 

“You were happy for her,” Nezumi says.

Shion nods and says nothing else. They walk in silence for a while, Shion looking down at their joined hands and Nezumi leading them to a bench covered by the shadow of a big willow tree. 

They sit together and Nezumi is reminded of the quiet moments they spent in the underground vault that was their home for so long. Both of them, sitting on the old couch having Macbeth soup. Him falling asleep and Shion reading silently by his side. The familiarity of it all comes to him in a wave that threatens to drown him.

But then Shion speaks up again and saves him, as he always seems to do without realizing.

“I wanted to see what she saw. To be where she was happy for the last time,” he explains. “I’m not sure what I was hoping to find here. I don’t know if I did.”

Nezumi squeezes his hands, gently.

“Give it time.”

Shion hums and leans back to rest more comfortably on the bench. Nezumi turns sideways to look at him. “I’m sick of _giving it time._ It seems like that’s all I’ve been doing sometimes.”

Nezumi feels the edge of those words digging deep into his skin. Still, he’s not the one wearing his heart on his sleeve here. 

Some of it must show on his face, though, because Shion frowns and sighs. “I’m being unkind,” he says.

Nezumi shakes his head. “No. You weren’t talking about—”

“I was. Not—not really. Not intentionally. But. It’s there, too.”

A cold gust of wind makes the willow tree’s leaves sing. Shadows are growing progressively larger and right above them, the first stars can be seen.

“Your friend—Safu. Would she like to know you’re here for her?”

Shion’s smile is a star of its own.

“Yes. I think she would.”

“There you have it, then.”

“I hope it still feels this simple tomorrow morning.”

Nezumi hums. "You quoted Dickinson, in No.4."

"It seemed fitting."

"It can always be," Nezumi agrees. Then, he recites: "'Hope' is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words—"

"And never stops, at all," Shion finishes with him as his thumb rubs circles on the back of Nezumi's hand.

Soon, night falls and they make their way out of the Gardens District. Shion doesn’t tell him when he’s leaving No.5 and Nezumi doesn’t ask. He can almost taste all the questions there, some bitter and some sweet, hanging from the tip of his tongue.

He doesn’t know exactly why something in him recoils at the thought of voicing what’s in his mind, not until they reach a corner where Nezumi turns to the left and Shion pulls to the right. Their hands, still joined, almost break apart. 

_You’re not being as kind as you think you are_ , Shion had told him. He understands it better now. 

He is now looking down at their hands and standing very still. Some loose strands of white hair shadow his expression.

“Shion?” Nezumi asks quietly.

“This is… strange,” he says, not looking up. “Don’t you think?”

He pretends not to notice the way Shion’s voice shakes, and allows him to avoid his eyes. 

“It is.”

“You know I’m not… you know I’m not purposely—?” 

“No, Shion, I know it’s not like that.”

It had crossed his mind the first time. And the second too, right until Shion ran way as soon as he saw him. But Shion wouldn’t put his stubbornness before Nezumi’s wishes. He would never push him like that. 

“I did think about it, at some point,” Shion admits, and that catches Nezumi off guard. A bit. But Shion is looking at him again and he’s smiling. 

So it’s alright.

“Well, that’s just human,” he says, smiling back. 

“Why are you making excuses for me, Nezumi?” Shion counters, voice light and teasing.

And, what can he do? He laughs, and Shion laughs with him, and the sky is bright above them.

***

# 4.

Algarrobo is a small town close to No.3, famous for two things: its ulmo honey and the Magnus Library. 

The honey Nezumi has yet to try. His relationship with bees is still understandably complicated. But the library—he’s visiting it for the third day in a row and has still not finished exploring the first floor. 

The place is _huge_ and breathtaking and there are just so many books he still feels a little overwhelmed when he crosses the threshold.

For awhile, he wanders aimlessly among the tall bookshelves, eyes jumping from book title to book title, fingers itching to pick each one of them. He turns around the corner to the next aisle and someone turns from the other end of it. 

Shion.

Because of course he's there.

Shion, who is holding a book but quickly drops it as his eyes are widen in surprise. Nezumi is vaguely aware of wearing a similar expression. 

And then—

Shion’s shoulders start shaking and he brings a hand to his mouth quickly, muffling a startled laugh. Then he unconvers it and tries to speak, only to let out an undignified snort that quickly morphs into giggles. 

Nezumi doesn’t know when he started laughing too, but he finds himself trying to hold back the blubbling, giddy sensation growing in his chest and leaning with one hand against the bookshelves for support.

Soon, a woman comes up from behind Shion and clears her throat loudly. Nezumi recognizes her as one of the librarians. She looks suitable intimidating.

“Gentleman, if you can’t keep your voices down I will have to ask you to leave.”

Nezumi tries to regain control of his body and pushes himself away from the bookshelves. “I’m sorry, we—” he starts, but Shion is still laughing, shaking his head and muttering a breathless apology as he heads quickly to the door. Nezumi presses his lips tightly together and follows him out. 

Outside, they stand still breathless and flushed with laughter. They try to speak at the same time and their words overlap, which quickly sends them laughing again. Shion is almost doubling over and before he can think better of it he reaches out to grab his arm. Shion holds onto him and Nezumi feels warm and his stomach and cheeks hurt from laughing and—there’s something bright in his chest that flares when Shion’s forehead ends up pressed against his chest as they both shake with chuckles that just won’t die. 

Nezumi uses the hand that’s not holding onto Shion’s arm to card his fingers through his white hair. Finallt. It’s still soft, like he remembers. 

Shion doesn’t pull away inmediately.

They finally regain their breath and Nezumi lets go, slowly, while Shion straightens up and takes a step back. His eyes are bright and happy.

“This is ridiculous,” he says. 

“I think it’s perfectly natural,” Nezumi teases, eyebrows raised.

“In books!” Shion counters. “Should I feel bad? This must be ruining your plans in some way.” 

The words... don’t hurt. Shion's smile hasn’t vanished, it’s still open and honest and Nezumi almost starts laughing again, just because he can.

“Oh? We can joke about that now?”

“We might as well start, this is a good time as any.”

“Let’s do it over lunch then?”

“Good idea.”

They fall into step together. It’s easy, and Nezumi is remind of their walk on the Gardens District, a little over a year ago. He leads them to a small restaurant he knows and soon enough they are enjoying a warm, delicious meal. 

“How did you find this place?”

“Georgie did. She’s from No.3 so she knows all the best spots.”

Shion hums around a mouthful of feijoada and nods. “You are still performing together?”

“Yes. With Yachi and Cecil too. Cecil joined recently, by Yachi’s suggestion. It's a good friend of hers.”

“What does he play?”

“Nothing. Well, no, he does play a few things but in the group he’s a singer too.”

Shion smirks at him.

“My, are you telling me you agreed to share the stage?”

Nezumi kicks him under the table. Lightly.

“He knows what he’s doing and Georgie and Yachi need to have backup in case we ever decide to go separate ways.”

Shion just looks at him for a moment and a short silence settles before he realizes how that sounded like.

“Should we dance around that or joke about it?”

The words have no edge. Shion is giving him a questioning look that somehow manages to express both fondness and exasperation.

“I did teach you how to dance, didn’t I?”

Shion snorts at that. “That line was awful. And don’t try to make me laugh again, I think I’ve had enough today to last until the end of the week.”

Nezumi shrugs, smiling. “Your lost. But I wasn't being serious, Shion, it’s your call to make. Ask if you want.”

Shion drinks some water, eats more of his feijoada and looks out the window. Nezumi waits.

At the end, he asks, but not what Nezumi was expecting. He wants to know how he meet Georgie and when did they start performing together. How did he get that job at the Veras Museum. Which one of the cities he had visited until now was his favorite. 

Nezumi answers all his questions truthfully, sharing funny anecdotes he knows will make Shion laugh again—he complains between giggles _‘I told you not to make me laugh!’_ — and describing the places he thinks Shion would like with all the details he can remember. 

And Nezumi asks him about No.6, too. About Karan and Rikiga and Inukashi and the baby they decided to keep. About the West Block and Lost Town and everything he left behind. 

The new reality Shion relates fits comfortably in some place inside his mind and he holds it with the knowledge he’ll get to see it one day. The thought of the city that he had hated so much for so long doesn’t haunt him, for the first time.

They leave the restaurant when the sun is beginning to set. The day is still warm as they walk towards an intersection. 

“Tomorrow we’ll be visiting the libraries inside the city,” Shion is saying, voice warm and excited. “Well, not all of them of course. There are so many. But that’s what we want. Currently the biggest library we have is still located in Chronos and it’s not even well equipped. So many material and books have been censored over the years. We’re in the process of figuring out how to expand what we have and how to make it accessible for everyone.”

“A herculean task, from the sounds of it.”

“Maybe. But we’re here now, and that’s a step in the right direction.”

Nezumi nods in agreement. “Can’t argue with that. How come you weren’t with your team today then?”

“We didn’t have anything scheduled for today so we were free to explore around. I wanted to see the Magnus Library on my own—we’ll be visiting it as a team on the last day of our stay, together with the current manager and someone from the Arts and Culture department but…”

“You wanted to be alone, enjoy it at your own pace?”

“Yes,” he admits. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” he says. Because of course he can’t. He was doing more or less the same thing, after all. “I ruined that plan then.”

Shion laughs again. Nezumi knows at that moment, with painful clarity, how deeply he will miss that sound once they part ways. 

“You kind of did, yes,” he answers truthfully before he stops walking and turns towards Nezumi. “But I’m glad. I’m—I’m happy. I’m happy this happened again,” he adds, looking at him with all the intensity and all the truth his gaze can hold.

It shouldn’t feel like a revelation. This is the fourth time they meet like this and Shion has looked at him directly in all the previous encounters, has smiled at him and bared his heart each single time in different ways. 

Nezumi _knows_. Of course he does.

But it had never made him feel like this: breathless and dizzy and so _alive._ All at once. 

They say their goodbyes and Nezumi feels like he’s walking on water. He looks at Shion’s retreating figure and feels what he has always felt towards unknown and far away places: an indescribable pull, the urge to move forward and reach out and breath under a different sky.

But Shion is not an unknown place. Shion is familiar and closer to him than anything else. Shion is also an ever changing puzzle, a mosaic of beautiful shapes he wants to learn until he knows them by heart. Shion is the person who knows him better. Who has seen him at his worst, who has been hurt rhe most by his words and actions and _stayed._

Shion loves him.

And of course he knows, of course he _knew_. Just like he knew the lengths he went to protect this airhead of a boy were evidence enough of his own feelings. But he never allowed himself to name them, not even in the privacy of his own mind. 

It was frightening. He thought that if he named it, it would drown everything else.

But it’s been almost six years, and he knows better now. 

Shion keeps walking away and doesn't look back. Nezumi waits until he turns around a corner and only then he lets his gaze drop to ground, blinking against the tears in his eyes.

Shion loves him, and Nezumi loves him back.

***

# 5.

The applause is deafening. He feels it in his bones, savours the feeling and bows again with the rest of the company. 

They leave the stage in a blur of congratulations and hugs and smiles. Nezumi feels like his whole body is tingling. This is the first time he has acted in seven years. _Seven years_. It was a small role, no singing involved, but he got it with his own merits and it was a choice not made out of necessity. He wanted this. He wanted this and it worked and he feels satisfied like he hasn’t in a long time. 

He walks to the dressing rooms with the rest of the actors. He shares one with a few others, and they joke and talk about the lines they forgot, the things they improvised and the public’s reaction to it all. Nezumi is not even bothering changing into his clothes yet. He only undoes his hairdo—too tight to be comfortable, and then Basira is poking her head through the door. 

“We’re making the toast!” she says, raising the champagne glass she’s holding in her hand. “Oh, goddess, Nezumi! They told you to bring your cup, right? It’s a tradition, you _have_ to join. If you don’t have one I can go—”

“I brought it, Basira, don’t worry,” he cuts in quickly, smiling at her. 

“Great! Hurry up then!” And then she’s gone. 

The others follow soon after but Nezumi wants to linger just a moment longer. He leans against the vanity and closes his eyes, willing himself to burn the night into his memory, the nervousness and the brightness of the stage lights, the words pouring easily from his lips, the— 

—knock on the door.

There’s a knock on the door.

He shakes himself and goes to fetch his cup from a cabinet in the corner. “I’m going, give me a second!” 

“Uh, what?”

Thankfully, he hasn’t picked up the cup yet. He probably would have dropped it. He whirls around so quickly he almost loses his balance. Shion is standing there, under the threshold, still not fully into the room.

“Shion?” 

“Hey,” he says, finally stepping in. “I—a girl let me in and told me you’d be here? I don’t know if I should… they were all—uh, no one paid me much attention.”

“The toast on the stage.”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s—nothing. You…” he stops for a second and tries to collect himself. It doesn’t help much. Shion is right there, just _looking_ at him, and Nezumi feels the cacophony of the applause around him all over again. That and the lights and the laughter and the thrill of it all, but it’s just Shion, with his tentative smile and his fond eyes. And how long has it been? Fourteen months? It feels like so much longer. 

“I swear this is a coincidence. Again.”

“But, how—?”

“Remember what I told you last time? About the libraries? We’re doing the same here. Sort of. And for our last day they invited us to come see this play, opening night, they said, but I never thought—I didn’t even know… I mean I—” he lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “When I saw you up there, on the stage, I couldn’t breath for a moment. I thought I was seeing things, wistful thinking, you know? Maybe it was someone really similar, maybe it was the costume or—But no. It was you.” Shion’s voice is soft when he finishes. Nezumi rests one hand on the back of the chair by the vanity, suddenly needing to hold onto something solid, something that grounds him. 

“So you saw the whole play?”

“Yes.”

“From start to finish?”

“Yes, Nezumi,” Shion repeats, amused.

Nezumi takes a few measured steps towards him. 

“And? How was I?” he asks, trying on a smile that feels like trickling water. There’s a lot and not enough air in the room at the same time. 

“Fishing for compliments is unbecoming,” Shion says, teasingly.

“Humor me.”

At that, Shion laughs a little. The lights from the vanity reflect on his eyes and there’s a soft flush on his cheeks.

His hair looks soft, and he’s _there_. Smiling at him.

“We’ll you were amazing! And don’t say I’m biased, although maybe I am, but you—”

Shion voice dies out because Nezumi takes the last step to cross the distance between them, cups Shion’s face, says “I missed you,” and kisses him.

It's barely a touch of lips.

A kiss, and a question. 

He only waits a second, and then Shion is holding onto him, solid and warm, lips opening under his. And Nezumi allows the dam to break and pulls him closer. Finally. 

Finally. 

When they pull apart, both of them are breathless and smiling. Nezumi threads his fingers in Shion’s hair and he leans into the touch.

“I wanted to do this, last time, but I didn't want to be cruel. Not like this is any different, but—”

Shion kisses the words out of his mouth. It’s sweet and ends way too quickly.

“It’s fine.”

“Shion—”

“Nezumi, let me speak,” he protests, pulling gently at the end of the tie he’s wearing. “Don’t promise anything else. Your word was enough back then and it hasn’t lost it’s value. Not to me.” He sighs, and rests his forehead against Nezumi’s. “We’re leaving No.2 in a couple of hours, Nezumi.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I just wanted to see you. Wanted you to see me.”

“You did accomplish that.”

“I know. I’m very proud of myself,” Shion says lightly, getting a short huff of laugher in response. “You know, at this rate I’m sure we’ll stumble on each other at some point next year.”

Nezumi smiles, his thumb gently stroking Shion’s cheek.

“Yeah, we probably will.”

And he actually believes that. Because this time he’ll make sure of it.

***

# 6.

No.6 is —like many things have been for him lately— a revelation. A good one. He walks through the streets of the West Block and doesn’t recognize even half of it. He ends up asking for _directions_. Which is. No. Not okay. 

He finds Inukashi’s hotel and is impressed by, well, everything about it. The location is not the same as it used to be —hence, the directions—, this is more central, a nice four story building with wide windows and a small garden in the front. 

Inukashi is not there, but a girl greets him at a small reception desk and he pays for a room for the night. He finds something familiar then: the dogs wandering the halls. They look healthy and clean, and all of them have a purple bandana around their necks. It’s a comforting sight. 

He leaves his luggage in his room and walks outside. The city’s silhouette is outlined against the darkening sky and even though it looks more or less like like he remembers, it doesn’t _feel_ like he remembers. 

He takes a bus to Lost Town and finds Karan’s bakery easily enough.

Karan is alone inside when he comes in. It must be about closing hours, because she’s taking off her apron when the bell chimes softly above his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear, we’re about to—” she turns around and sees him. Her surprise is evident, and it looks so much like Shion’s that a part of him aches with it. “Nezumi?”

He opens his mouth to say something. He _was_ going to stay something. But his mouth is dry and the words just won’t come, so he only nods, and then Karan is wrapping him in a hug and he remembers he’s supposed to breathe. 

They end up in her kitchen, drinking tea and having lemon pie because Karan wouldn’t take a no for an answer. It feels surreal because he remembers so much about this place but stayed for so little it often felt like it had only been a dream. He remembers the taste of the pie he’s eating, remembers the smell of the tea drifting up towards the ceiling. It feels solid now. At last.

“He’ll be back in a couple of days,” Karan says. “They went to No.2 again.”

And it feels a bit ironic; that when he decided to come back, Shion would be gone.

It also feels fair, that now he gets to do the waiting bit.

“Bad timing,” he says, taking another bite from his pie. “But it’s fine, I’ll wait.”

Karan stays silent for a second. 

“Nezumi?” she says.

“Yes?”

“Shion doesn’t say much but I think I know enough. Tell me, why did you come back?”

Nezumi smiles. He knows the answer to that.

“To stay.”

Karan fusses over him and sends him away with more pastries than he can eat. From her he learns Inukashi left recently on a vacation with Shionn, the little baby they had found all those years ago. They went to the beach, apparently, which is a plan he entertains for the future.

Has Shion seen the sea?

He’ll have to ask him. 

Three days go by. He stays in the West Block and rediscovers most of it, walking on paths he used to know that feel unfamiliar but alive with a new purpose. He avoids some places too and allows himself to wait and to adjust. 

On the fourth night, he’s in his room about to change to something comfortable to go sleep when there’s a frantic knock on his door. 

He opens it and barely has time to breathe before he sees Shion standing there, because _of course_ is Shion—and then they’re hugging and Shion is shaking in his arms, face buried in the crook of Nezumi’s neck.

Nezumi holds him tight and doesn’t let go until Shion starts pulling back.

“You’re really here,” is the first thing he says.

“Well, we had to meet this year too, remember?”

“Oh, shut up,” Shion complains, pushing him lightly. His eyes are bright with tears. “You came back, I’m trying to be serious.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Really.”

“Yes. I realized I didn’t want to rely on life’s good will to see you when I least expected it. I wanted be _certain_ it would happen,” he explains softly, cupping Shion’s face in his hands.

“Oh.”

“I’m back, Shion. I’m back.”

Shion kisses him and Nezumi smiles against his lips, kissing back, but then Shion is pulling away way too soon, talking quickly as he searches his eyes.

“Nezumi you… this—this won’t be a random encounter once in a while anymore. This will be—”

“Every day. I know, Shion, I _choose_ this. I chose to come back and now I’m choosing to stay,” he interrupts, holding both of Shion hands in his. “Do you believe me?”

“I do! I really do, it’s just—I…” he trails off and sighs. 

“You’re panicking.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m panicking too.”

“You’re not!” he protests, but part of his smile is back. That’s good.

“Look,” Nezumi says, taking only one of Shion hands and moving it to his chest, pressing it flat right above the wild beating of his heart. “See?”

Shion lets out a breathless chuckle and nods once. 

“I’m happy, Shion. Here. With you.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll joke about this later. It will probably take us four years, but we’ll get there.”

Shion laughs at that and it’s all Nezumi could have asked for.

Because he loves him. He really, really does. And maybe soon he’ll tell him, if only to see his face brighten once he hears it.

That night, they walk together and their paths stay one and the same, like they were always supposed to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> There were winks to a few of my favorites podcasts here because I needed names and, yeah. Not good at coming up with names.  
> From the Magnus Archives: Georgie and the Magnus Library, obviously (this is a good library tho).  
> From Welcome to Night vale: Cecil.  
> Fom The Penumbra: Nureyev.
> 
> Also, Algarrobo is a real place. It's in Chile, by the beach.  
> Ulmo honey is delicious and Nezumi is missing out.  
> "Hope is the thing with feathers" is a poem by Emily Dickinson, you can read it here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42889/hope-is-the-thing-with-feathers-314


End file.
